Talk of The Town
by BeccaRamsey
Summary: Bruce and Diana talk real estate, and Dick makes introductions. Follows on "Being and Becoming." Fourth in a series. (BM/WW.)


**Author's Notes:** This one was sitting, unfinished, on my hard drive for a long, long while. Reconnecting with some old friends, I was inspired to finish it. It's set to follow "Being and Becoming," as Diana explores life - and her relationship with Bruce - as "Diana Prince." It's being posted without beta, so any mistakes you see are definitely my own.

Standard disclaimers apply - characters aren't mine; no money to be made from publication, etc. For now, only archived here at ff dot net.

Rated "T" for adult-oriented conversation, more as a precaution; it's certainly more mild than what is frequently seen in prime-time. =D

* * *

Kendra Miller paused in the doorway to the executive suite, glancing down at the oversized envelopes in her arms. There were several, most of which, she noted, were contract documents expected by Mister Wayne. Each contract would be removed, stamped, and taken in to him as soon as she could get them organized. As she mentally reviewed the current outstanding contracts, however, she noted a change in her environment. The usual din of chatter among the secretarial pool diminished, followed by the typical clattering of typewriter and computer keys; a strange stillness settled over the room as everyone slowed and then stopped. _What the…?_

Brows furrowed, she looked up. A woman, visitor badge clipped to her lapel, crossed the room, removing white gloves as she did so. Even without recognizing her, Kendra understood why everything stopped: the woman was stunning. She towered over most of the employees she passed, walking with a sure step. Her shoulders were straight, chin tilted upward in regal fashion, her hips swaying slightly. The jet black hair piled atop her head seemed more a crown than a bun, and the overhead lighting glinted off wire-rimmed glasses. The impish gleam that danced behind the cat-eye shaped, gray lenses were unmistakeable.

"Miss Prince," Kendra said aloud. She stepped forward and extended her hand. Behind her, she could hear the shuffle of paper begin again, followed by the low hum of conversation. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The woman extended her own hand and offered a wary smile. "Miss Miller?"

Kendra nodded. She only just managed not to wince as the towering woman shook her hand. "One in the same," she said. "Apologies for being so forward, but I managed to catch you and Mister Wayne on Summer Gleeson's show Friday night…"

A visible blush crept across Diana's features. "My comments were… 'off the cuff,' is what Dick called it, I think."

"If that was off the cuff, I'd hate to see what you could do with a little premeditation."

Kendra turned as she heard the familiar baritone behind her. She found her boss, Bruce Wayne, crossing the suite from his office. He buttoned his suitcoat as he did so, and then stuffed a hand down into his left pocket. He allowed a lopsided grin to curve his lips, and his squared jaw dropped a little as he held Diana's eyes with his own. There was a harder edge to his expression than she had ever seen from him, daring and intense. It was balanced strangely by his relaxed stance as he stopped beside her. She felt suddenly awkward, as though she were imposing on a private moment between the two.

Diana's blush instantly disappeared. She was suddenly the towering figure that entered, sure of herself, and standing equal to Wayne's glare. "Shove me in front of a camera again, Mister Wayne, and find out."

"Is that a dare, Miss Prince?"

"If the shoe fits, Mister Wayne."

"Many more responses like that, and people will begin to talk. Right, Kendra?" Wayne's grin widened as he looked to his assistant.

"No offense, sir," Kendra drawled, "but people are already talking."

She didn't miss the sidelong glance her boss gave Miss Prince. "What could they possibly have to talk about?"

 _As if you don't know,_ Kendra thought. _You could play innocent with someone else, but not me, Boss. But, if that's the way you want to play it, then I'll play along…_ "The society pages are heartbroken you're 'temporarily off the market'; Summer Gleeson seems to think it's a permanent condition."

"All that from one outing?" Diana looked from Bruce to Kendra and back again, brow arched.

Bruce gave a nod. "All that from one outing." He shook his head and offered Diana his arm. "Shall we go give them some more headlines?"

Diana cut him a glare over the rim of her glasses as she slipped her hands back into her gloves. She then hooked her arm in his. "You're enjoying this a little too much, Mister Wayne."

"You have _no_ idea, Miss Prince." Wayne looked to Kendra. "We're meeting Harold Young at his office, so I'll likely be a little late getting back. Please make sure any new correspondence gets put on my desk, if you would, Kendra."

 _Harold Young? Your real estate agent?_ Kendra fought to keep her expression neutral as her mind raced. She offered a slight smile. "Of course, Mister Wayne. Have a good afternoon." She waved with a free hand as she watched the retreating forms disappear down the corridor. One of the younger members of the secretarial pool, Anna Montgomery, was at her side before Kendra could even blink. Fresh from Gotham Tech, it was well known that Anna had more than professional interest in the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. She was followed by three other ladies with similar reputations.

"Was that her? Diana Prince?" Anna whispered. When Kendra nodded, she pressed further. "I saw she and Bruce on 'Insider' Friday night. It was disgusting, watching her throw herself at him like that."

Kendra shook her head, finally clearing away the thoughts racing through her mind. "But it'd be all right if _you_ were the one doing the throwing, right, Anna?" She gave a saccharin smile, turning on her heel. If she was lucky, the comment would be enough to keep Anna fuming for the rest of the day – and out of Mister Wayne's business.

* * *

"I need to know one thing, Diana."

Both hands wrapped around the warm ceramic mug, Diana blinked. Steam curled into the air off the top of the dark liquid, white and misty against the dark wood surface of the table. Her eyes followed the wisp of steam as it disappeared into the wash of sunlight that spilled in the window over the shoulder of her lunch companion. She found him watching her intently. "And that would be…?"

Wayne leant forward on his elbows. His fingers lightly brushed against her hands, then drew back slightly, as though thinking better of his actions. He instead interlaced his fingers on the table. "We're meeting with my real estate agent in an hour. I need to know just how far you want to take this."

"Isn't the question here just how far _you_ want to take this?" Diana asked, furrowing her brow. "How much is necessary to maintain the illusion? A few new outfits, a new hairstyle, some 'creative' documentation – they're all a little different from a multi-million dollar apartment in the historic district." She stopped pursing her lips. A phrase she had once overheard used in a conversation between Canary and Green Arrow came to mind. "Are Bruce Wayne and Diana Prince 'friends with benefits,' or is there something more between them?"

Choking on his own coffee, Bruce grabbed for his napkin. He covered his mouth as he coughted and tossed a glare at her over the slip of cloth. "Where—" Pausing, he cleared his throat. "Where did you - ?"

"It doesn't matter." She waved off his question. "It just seems like a lot of money to invest, should Diana find Bruce isn't returning her calls in a few weeks."

Her response sounded sharper than she had intended, but she didn't feel the need to apologize. In the long run, where she learned the phrase didn't matter. What did matter was finding out where Diana Prince – and thus, Diana of Themyscira – stood with this man opposite her. It really was a cruel question, she mused. Bruce Wayne had a lot more to lose; unline Diana Prince, he was of this reality. She, on the other hand, was just a mass of forged documents inserted into various databases around the world. In asking her the question, he attempted to put the matter squarely on her shoulders, to give her the illusion of control. Sure he had to realize that _he_ had to answer those questions, not her?

A long silence fell over the table as Bruce scrutinized her with narrowed eyes. Under his gaze, Diana couldn't help but squirm. Uncrossing then re-crossing her legs, she transferred her weight to the opposite hip and readjusted her glasses across the bridge of her nose. She'd been on the receiving end of his glares before, this one was different – suited to the strange situation they now found themselves in. Was there a better solution? Was the whole experiment ill-conceived from the beginning?

Diana looked down at the long sleeves of the tailored suit. Beneath those sleeves, hidden so carefully behind the cloaking device, were the only parts of her true identity that she still wore. Her armor, lasso, and tiara were concealed in the lead-lined and slightly oversized purse resting in her lap. It was a compromise, a way of Diana Prince meeting Diana of Themyscira in the middle. Her lips drew a thin line. Were she dealing simply with the very public Bruce Wayne, the situation would be simple – a casual fling between friends, maybe even a trophy bride. Complications arose, however, when one added the _real_ Bruce Wayne to the equation. Bruce was passionate about everything he did, a passion he hid well from the casual observer. Indeed, his very need to become Batman was fed by his passion for justice, the overwhelming drive to avenge his parents' deaths. That he had tumbled with her into this relationship spoke volumes about the depth of his emotion for her. There were no "three little words"; she was not even sure that their relationship could exist in the long term. It simply _was_ , and there was no way around it.

Once again, a compromise was needed. This one, however, needed to come between the public image of Bruce Wayne and his dark, passionate side.

A hand appeared in her field of vision, snapping her from the reverie as she felt it come to rest over hers. She released the coffee cup and gripped his hand, matching his strength. His lips slowly twisted into the patented Bruce Wayne smirk. His eyes glinted darkly. "So, you like this historic district?" he asked finally, his voice raised for public consumption.

She allowed a wry grin and mischief lit her own eyes. "Very much. The architecture reminds me of home."

"I'll just bet." Glaring at her over the rim of his coffee cup, Diana fought the urge to laugh. _At least he didn't choke this time_ , she thought.

* * *

Barbara Gordon glanced at her passenger, Tim Drake, as he looked up from the computer gaming magazine he was attempting to read, frowning and staring thoughtfully through the windshield before him. Shifting her attention back to the road, she keyed down the stereo. "What's on your mind?"

"That's all he said? That he'd have to tell you when we got back?" Tim asked. He was referring to the earlier call she received from Dick Grayson. It had been a hot topic of conversation for the travelers since departing their hotel, and had carried through intermittently to their current path – the last stretch of road between Gotham International Airport and Wayne Manor. Tim had merely picked up where their previous conversation had left off as they disembarked the commuter jet.

Barbara gritted her teeth and gripped the steering wheel. From the beginning, Tim had possessed the curiosity of a cat. Someone had neglected to tell him, however, what happened to that cat. "For the hundredth time, yes, Tim; he told me he couldn't talk about it over the phone, and that we would have to 'see it to believe it.'"

"Not even a clue?"

"Not even a clue."

Tim scowled, dropping his chin into his palm. "I hate waiting for news."

"You just hate waiting, period." Babs reached over, tousling the younger man's hair.

Drake ducked away from her hand. "Hey! Not the hair! Took forever to get it to look like this!"

"You mean like you just rolled out of bed?"

"It's the style now – get with the program, Babs."

Barbara cast a sidelong glance at the boy as she pulled through the automatic gate of Wayne Manor. "I'm 'with the program,' Tim. At least I know what shampoo is." She grinned. "First fundraiser, Bruce'll make you cut it, anyway."

"All the more reason to enjoy it now."

The house itself came into view and Barbara gave an involuntary shudder. The gothic towers and dark shadows surrounding the house gave it all the appeal of a medieval castle, and the cliff-side isolation made it fit for a Hollywood horror flick. _Fitting, considering who lives here,_ she thought, recalling the darkness of the cave below. Neither Bruce nor his alter ego were well-known for their warmth. Without Alfred, she reasoned, even the interior would seem as dark and foreboding. Then again, without Alfred, where would Bruce, himself, be?

She pushed aside the dark response to her question as she pulled the car to a halt before the front door. Switching off the engine and popping the trunk, she sighed. "We're back."

A quiet moment fell over the two. Tim hung his head slightly, absently leafing through his magazine. "It was kinda nice, wasn't it? Not suiting up every night and saving the city from itself?"

Barbara paused and regarded the younger man. "It _was_ a nice break, wasn't it?" She gave a rueful smile. "If you really wanted to quit, no one would blame you. Believe it or not, I think Bruce would understand."

"I know – especially since he didn't want me around to begin with." He chuckled, calling to mind the circumstances under which he became the "new" Boy Wonder. "I mean, you just spent two weeks blach-blah-blahing on computer forensics, and I spent a week teaching the feds how to act like a teenager so they could catch some sick and twisted people on the interwebs. There's people like that in Gotham – in addition to all the Two-Faces, Jokers, and Scarecrows. Cool as your dad is, the cops can't handle it all." He shrugged. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that we still have a job to do."

"That we do." Fighting the urge to hug the teenager, Barbara sighed. Leave it to Tim to find the silver lining. _Not near so cynical as the rest of us…not yet._ She gave a smile. "C'mon, kiddo; let's get back to business."

"Sure," Tim said as he opened his car door. "Just don't call me 'kiddo.'"

She gave him her most disarming smile. "Right, kiddo."

Grabbing Tim's luggage from the trunk, Alfred already had the door open as Barbara approached. "Ahh, Miss Barbara; Master Timothy. Glad to see you arrived safely," he said. He reached, taking Tim's duffel bag from her. "I trust the two of you enjoyed your stay in Washington?"

"Enjoyed isn't really the word I'd choose, Alfred," Barbara answered.

"Interesting, then?"

Tim dropped his backpack onto the entryway floor. "'Interesting.' Good choice."

A loud guitar riff and strong bass beat could be heard billowing down the staircase, along with the strains of some half-familiar lyrics. Barbara furrowed her brow, looking to the butler. "Not exactly your taste in music, Alfred."

"No, Miss. Decidedly not." Alfred closed the door behind them. "The music, I believe, is Master Dick's choice. He and Master Bruce's guest have been working in the dojo this afternoon."

"Heh. Mood music. I like it." Tim paused. "Wait – _Master Bruce's guest_?"

"Yes."

"Alfred… you only use that phrase when the guest is a lady."

The butler-confidante sniffed. "I do nothing of the sort."

Barbara looked to Tim, grins slipping simultaneously across their features. "So the boss found a new girlfriend," the teen commented. "Guess Dick's teaching her some self-defense moves or something."

"Or something." Alfred turned to Barbara. "Will there be anything else, Miss?"

"I think we can handle it, Alfred. Thanks."

"Very good. I'll be in the kitchen, preparing dinner."

Barbara watched as Alfred turned, picking up the duffel bag once again and making his way up the staircase. At the landing, he veered left, heading directly for Tim's bedroom; he would take the back staircase after he unpacked the duffel. Her eyes then drifted right, toward what had become the dojo. Dick always preferred music when he practiced – it occupied his mind, he said, and kept his attention off any injuries he and the other crusaders seemed to have. That the music was this loud indicated Bruce wasn't home. The Dark Knight preferred to brood in silence.

"Well?"

She blinked at the sound of Tim's voice. "Well what?"

"We gonna go find out who the mystery woman is?"

"Am I going to be able to stop you?"

"No."

"Then lead on, Boy Wonder."

Tim turned toward the staircase, then stopped, turning back to Barbara. "Ya know, I really hate that nickname."

Babs laughed. She knew as well as he did that, at almost six feet tall, he didn't look the part of the Boy Wonder any more; Alfred had created two new costumes for him in the past year alone. "Yeah, well, Nightwing is already taken. Looks like you're stuck." Ruffling his hair, she moved toward the staircase. He reached out with a side kick that Barbara dodged easily, dropping to a roll. She sprung to her feet and onto the first stair. "You're getting rusty."

"Oh, you just wait till we get in the dojo," the teen threatened. He glowered at her, passing her as the climbed the staircase.

The volume of the music grew, then came to a crashing halt as the song ended. A brief moment of silence followed. As Barbara and Tim rounded the corner into the dojo, the music started again, a driving drum beat with screaming guitar. _Oh, yeah. Dick knows how to pick them_ , she thought, rolling her eyes.

They paused at the doorframe and stepped out of their shoes before entering the room. Simultaneously, they they bowed, Tim with his hands at his sides, Barbara's on her thighs. They stood together, eyes fixed on the pair sparring in the center of the room.

She noticed Dick first. The mass of long, dark locks that had been his trademark were long gone, a casualty of his work in the lab at school. The style now reminded her more of his own "Boy Wonder" days – longer on the top, short on the sides. She still wasn't sure how she felt about it, but she was getting used to it. Unlike their sparring sessions, however, he wore his uniform pants without his tunic. It, and his embroidered black belt, lay discarded near the stereo.

Her attention switched to the woman standing opposite him. She was tall – taller than any woman Barbara had seen in a while. Black, silken hair hung down her back in a ponytail, her trim figure accented by the white belt tied around her waist. She stood with her back to the door in an easy guarding stance, shoulders relaxed. This told Barbara that, while she wore a white belt, she was no stranger to the mats.

Across the room, Grayson licked his lips, blinking. _Nervous?_ Barbara wondered. _That's not like him._ She glanced to Tim, who stood with his own brow furrowed, then looked back to Dick. He didn't flinch, even when he was toe-to-toe with the Bat himself. Was Bruce's new girlfriend really that good? Or was he just afraid of hurting her?

She soon got her answer. The brunette signalled she was ready for his attack, nodding and voicing a "Hai!" Dick echoed her, charging forward with a punch, aimed at her nose. The woman blocked high and grabbed hold of his arm. She then twisted her grip, whirling. Her fight elbow went back into his stomach and she pulled forward on his suspended arm. Using her hips as leverage, she then sent Dick reeling into a fall. He landed with a _thump_ , sprawled across the floor, his surprise written in his expression. His sparring partner finished the move by dropping to one knee and delivering a tap to his ribs.

They stayed in that position for a few seconds, neither moving. Then, laughing, the woman stood and offered Dick a hand. He practically flew to a standing position. Facing one another again, they bowed. It was then that Dick noticed Barbara and Tim.

"Babs! Tim!" he stammered, eyes widening. He passed a surreptitious glance to the woman. "Didn't hear you come in."

Barbara folded her arms across her chest. _Squirm, little bird_ , she thought as a wry grin slipped across her lips. "It's a wonder you can hear anything," she called over the screaming lyrics, "between the music and the company."

Grayson gave a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. He moved toward the stereo and quickly flipped a switch. Silence filled the room. "Sorry," he said aloud. "Gotta listen when I have the chance."

"And it didn't bother you, Miss…?"

The woman straightened her uniform tunic, then turned. A radiant smile beamed at the two new arrivals and Barbara immediately understood why the woman, despite the new uniform, knew how to acquit herself.

"Wonder Woman?" Tim piped up. "Bruce's new girlfriend is _Wonder Woman_? Holy sh—"

"Actually," the Amazon began, cutting off Tim's expletive, "I prefer Diana." She extended her hand. "You must be Barbara Gordon."

Shaking off the initial shock, Barbara shook hands with Diana. "No… I mean, yes, I am. I think." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. Dick said I had to be here, but… I guess a lot's happened while we've been gone."

"You could say that."

Noting the lopsided grin curving Diana's lips, Babs swallowed. _Oh, yeah_ , she thought, _she's been around Bruce all right._ Her mind reeled at the prospect. _Wonder Woman? Not hating mankind as much any more, Princess?_ She mentally cringed. _Don't go there, Babs. Just…don't._

Beside her, Tim was recovering much faster. The teen crime fighter extended his own hand. "Tim Drake. _Some people_ " – he paused, casting a sideways glance at Barbara – "call me Boy Wonder. I _prefer_ Robin. At least on patrols, anyway."

Diana smiled at the young man and shook his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Tim."

When she spoke again, Barbara hoped she sounded calmer than she felt. "So… who's going to be the first to fill us in on what we missed? I _love_ a good story."


End file.
